


Different Breeds

by Shiggityshwa



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crossover, Episode: s10e03 The Pegasus Project, Gen, Oneshot, added scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21765088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiggityshwa/pseuds/Shiggityshwa
Summary: Set during 10x03, McKay finally gets to explain his joke to Vala. SGA/SG-1 crossover.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Different Breeds

**Author's Note:**

> Pegasus Project is one of my favorite episodes, I always felt it was a shame there wasn't more character interaction, particularly between Vala and McKay, so I wrote this up.

The commissary in this ancient city is severely lacking. She wagered that with all the scientific advances discovered within Atlantis, which Daniel has told and retold her of several times, that the late dinner menu would have a little more glitz and glam. Instead it’s the same brand of food served a galaxy away, storeys underground, the same ingredients—meat, vegetables, and a grain—mixed in very basic ways.

She managed to gain release from Daniel and Dr. Weir, only because they practically gave her the go ahead to please vacate the premises while they droned on about Ancients and Merlin and all sorts of things that she has no interest of and cause her to yawn uncontrollably. She complained about being hungry, poking Daniel in the side until he finally relented and dropped her off to get dinner alone a few hours ago.

Outside the large windows the sun has set, and stars begin to dot the sky. She hasn’t seen the stars on Earth in so long, she forgot what they looked like planet side. Usually she only sees the stars when she’s travelling through them, never from afar.

Knows she was meant to be abandoned here because there are two guards standing as sentinels at the commissary entrance who have never been present before during this stay, and when she stood to collect more napkins to clean up the drink she’d accidentally spilled, they readied themselves to intercept her.

Knows men—knows men when they have intentions of harming her—and her intuition said it was best to sit and wait by her lonesome in the near empty cafeteria while the doctors battle intellectual wits, speaking of things her brain doesn’t have the capacity to understand.

Loud bickering erupts as two of the men from the meeting early, the meeting she feels she was only invited to in order to be monitored, push by the guards with squinting faces of confusion, briefly halting their disagreement to view the unwavering men, before picking up exactly where they left off.

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to tell everyone about the citrus allergy.” The doctor, digresses, his hands thrown out at his sides with a dramatic flare, much like Daniel, and she wonders if all Tau’ri scientists are like this.

“And I’m just saying that Mitchell told me how you were talking to Carter—”

“She’s an old friend—”

They’re growing louder now, snaking through the tables and aisles and don’t seem to have a specific destination, more so just intent on nurturing the argument.

“You told her about a fantasy you had about her, Rodney!”

“It wasn’t a fantasy! It was a hallucination!”

At the doctor’s outburst, they both balk down, perhaps realizing how loud they are, maybe realizing that they’ve actually migrated to the commissary from wherever their quarrel initiated.

It grows quiet again, and she rests her palm across mouth in a sort of huff, her attention falling back to the blackness outside the window. How much time has passed? How much needs to before someone comes and retrieves her from this room like a child from daycare.

It would be so exceedingly easy for her to slip away from two measly guards, who only seem to be armed with one weapon and rifle, through artifact rooms for interesting trinkets.

The second thought is more malice.

Perhaps they’ve finally forgotten about her.

“Hey.”

The two men, not the guards but those present at the roundtable conference earlier, are now standing beside the large, empty table she inhabits. She blinks twice, dragging herself out of the self-destructive reverie she’d fallen into, and instead of stars, stares at the men.

The colonel, it’s easy to remember his rank because almost all the military personnel she knows are colonels, points a finger at her with a gentle smile. “Valerie, right?”

“Vala,” she corrects. A correction that happens quite often as Sam has recounted that her name is very rare, if not nonexistent, on Earth.

“Vala, sorry—They stop serving food this late at night.”

“Yes, they’ve told me as much.”

“Then why are you here?” The doctor asks crassly.

“Rodney.” The colonel rolls his eyes, tossing his hands aside, and perhaps all Tau’ri males employed by the military have the same flare for drama. “I think what Dr. McKay is asking, is if there’s something wrong with your quarters.”

“Well I suppose so.” Blinks again, sitting up straight, the belt of her BDUs starting to dig into her only slightly full stomach, her back aching a little from slouching. “In so much as I wasn’t aware I’d been assigned one.”

“We had a meeting about it over an hour ago.” The doctor stares at her, his mouth a bit unhinged. “Jackson didn’t tell you?”

Could explain to them of their relationship, how she is not so much a confident and teammate to SG-1, then a thorn in their side that sometimes has an idea no one else thinks of. But regaling near strangers with the woes of her life isn’t as interesting as examining the suite she’s been assigned, so she simply shakes her head.

“How long have you been in the mess?” The colonel squints his eyes in what she interprets is concern, and it’s actually refreshing.

“Since before sunset.”

“That was four hours ago!”

The colonel slaps his arm against the doctor’s shoulder, and it’s his turn to finch. He speaks through gritted teeth. “Again, Rodney!”

“I’m sorry, but—” The doctor apologizes to the colonel, and then turns to her, his hand reaching out and stopping short, reaching again and stopping. “I’m sorry, it’s just a long time to wait.”

“Oh, I’m a very patient woman.” Normally she would add a little sizzle to her voice, garnish the words with a wink, but it’s just spoken back into her palm as she stares at the window again. “Particularly, where there are two armed men standing at the exit.”

The men glance to each other, then at the guards who have yet to move a single inch, then back at her.

The colonel juts a thumb towards the guards. “They’re here for you?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Why?”

“Well, to keep me confined to this room.”

“No, we got that,” the colonel clarifies with an amused laugh.

The doctor’s eyebrows furrow as he observes her, perhaps trying to scan her for hidden weapons, for any dangers. “Why do you need to be kept here?”

“Because I can’t be trusted.”

“Why can’t you be trusted?”

“Because of my illicit past.”

“What’s so illicit about—”

“Okay.” The colonel steps between them, effectively ending their conversation. “I can see this going on for awhile—”

“Well, I think it’s important to know why we should be wary of her—” The doctor quickly angles his body back towards her. “—no offense—” then swerves back to continue his conversation with the colonel. “I told you we should’ve run a whole background check on—”

“You’re just nosy.” The colonel leans over the table, garnering her attention again. “You attack anyone?”

“Not recently.”

“Kill anyone?”

“Not anyone that didn’t deserve it.”

“You evil?”

“Not anymore.”

The colonel slams his hand against the tabletop, causing both her and the doctor to flinch. “Good enough for me. You want an escort to your room?”

She grins sleepily, still half resting against the open palm of her hand and fantasizing not about Ancient baubles, but of cool, crisp bed sheets. But Daniel warned her to be on her best behaviour, to not upset anyone on Atlantis, and that she was brought along with SG-1 as a favor—and because General Landry didn’t trust anyone else to keep watch of her. “While I appreciate the gesture, I’m sure someone from SG-1 will be—”

“Mitchell is writing reports up in command—”

“Dr. Jackson and Weir are still debating Merlin in her office—”

“And Carter is running numbers in Rodney’s lab.”

“Carter’s in my lab?”

“SG-1 is otherwise occupied.”

“You let Carter use my lab?”

“But we’re here, and we can swing you by your room—”

“You just gave Carter my lab!?”

“Before Rodney goes back to his lab.”

It may be her sleep rattled body, or perhaps the colonel’s calming grin, but the back and forth between the two men becomes comedic and she suddenly doesn’t feel as if she’s burdening them in any manner. Besides if Daniel hums and haws at her tomorrow for escaping his grand plan of imprisoning her in the commissary, then she can direct him to the colonel, whose offer of escort was unprompted. “Well, if you insist.”

When they approach the doors, the guards stand straighter on their probably numb legs, and take a step to the side to intercept her.

“Easy guys.” The colonel raises a hand, beckoning them to abort the movement.

“We have orders, Colonel Sheppard.”

“Well, we’re just walking Vala here to her room.” The guards remain unwavering with stoic faces and cemented bodies. “Unless you’d like her to sleep in the mess tonight?”

“Not really the friendliest of exchanges to have with the SGC,” the doctor argues, seemingly on her side, although his gaze will still not meet her own.

The colonel gains the same silly smirk Cameron does. “Not to mention it’s no way to treat a lady.”

So the chivalrous trait does run common to military men. Last year it would have been reassuring to know she could exploit such a rare trait, as over the years she’s perfected the damsel in distress scenario to a simple pick pocket and noggin bludgeon, but now it’s refreshing knowing that her basis in trusting Mitchell rests on his old-fashioned need to treat her with a base respect.

Now she can trust this colonel for the same reason.

The guards exchange a glance but allow them to pass without any further confrontation.

She moves in silence as the doctor rambles off facts about Atlantis, and the colonel slings small verbal barbs during his topic changes, but they all fall silent while waiting for an elevator.

The silence only grows more pronounced, more awkward, as they clamber into the tight chamber. There’s a blinking light on the panel that scrolls over certain floors, and the overwhelming sound of all their inhalations.

“A Chihuahua is a really small dog, maybe weighing five pounds. Like a little rat dog. Actually, they’re a lot like rats, while St. Bernard’s are over a hundred pounds. They chronically have bad knees because of it. They’re like mini horses. Do you have horses where—”

Her soft laughter is drowned out by the colonel, who turns half aghast, half entertained by the doctor’s monologue. “Rodney, what in the hell are you talking about?”

“Earlier she didn’t get my joke, and Carter—the same Carter you gave my lab to—didn’t give me a chance to explain.”

The elevator emits a sound as it opens, not so much the congenial ding as back at the SGC, but more of a buzzing hum, like the sound of a machine still trying to move while immobile. Both men allow her to step through the threshold first and she waits, well aware of how simple it would be to slam an open palm into the elevator panel and tear down the corridor while they travel to several different floors.

If they were Daniel, she would need more convincing.

Instead she offers some insight, a tidbit of information on her as they’ve been fairly lenient in what she’s been forced to divulge. “To answer your question, they don’t have horses on my home world, but I know what they are.”

“Where exactly is your home world?” The colonel questions as he falls into step beside her.

That is a little more information than she’s willing to divulge. A query that has slipped from Daniel’s mouth several times over. One hasn’t answered yet. One that she wagers she never will. “Oh, that’s hardly important anymore.”

The doctor’s shoes squeak against the floor as he scoffs, walking beside her, but still not willing to meet her eyes. Still not entirely trusting, and she can’t blame him. “I’d say it is, the more we know about alternative cultures, the more—”

A sly grin pulls at her lips, as she relaxes, awakens, purposefully joining in their game of banter. “I’m sorry, Darling, I meant it’s hardly important to me anymore.”

The colonel chuckles beside her, his shoulders bouncing with the action. “Fair enough.”

They stop at a door, similar to all the others around it, marked with golden letters and numbers in ancient writing. She barely knows enough of the language to get by, feigns even less knowledge with Daniel, as he leaves more texts and artifacts out when he doesn’t think she can translate the writing.

“Here you are. If you swipe your hand over the—”

She catches on before the colonel finishes, waving her hand over the panel, which she assumes scans the room over to her possession for the night.

“I’d say stay here until one of your team comes to get you in the morning but—”

“Their incompetence is palpable,” the doctor nods in agreement, then back at the elevator. “They’d probably leave you here accidentally.”

The colonel side eyes the doctor, his patience obviously growing strained at the constant outbursts, but part of her finds it refreshing that someone other than herself has no qualms speaking their mind.

“Thank you very much for the escort.” She reaches out her hand, shaking the colonel’s, then offers the same hand to the doctor, making sure to meet his eye. “And thank you for explaining the joke.”

To her surprise he meets her gaze, unflinching, no outbursts or hand smacks, and a tick of a grin pulls at his lopsided mouth. “Thanks for still laughing even though you didn’t get it.”


End file.
